* « MAKE-UP " BOOK— HOW TO ** MAKE-UP." A practical guide for 
Amateurs, with Twenty-three Colored lUustratioDS. Price 50 cents. 



No. CCCXLI. 

FRENCH'S MINOR DRAMA. 

THE ACTING EDITION. 



The Alumni Plai 



% farce in (Due %tt. 



BY 



CLARA HARRIET SHERWOOD. 



Copyright, 1891, by T. H. French. 



New York :, 

T. H. FRENCH, 

Successor to Samuel French & Son, 
PUBLISHER, 

28 WEST 23d STREET. . 



London : 
SAMUEL FRENCH, 

PUBLISHER, 

89, STRAND. 



Containing Kouge. Pearl Powdei, Whiting, Mongolian, Ruddy Ronge, Violet Powder. 
Box and Puff: Chrome, Blue, Burn" Cork, Pencils for the eyelids. Spirit Gum, India Ink, 
Camel Hair BrasheB, Hare's Foot. rVool, Craped Hair, Cold Cream, Joining Paete, Min- 
laturo Puffs, Scissors and Looking Glass; packed neatly in Strong Fancy Cl.d-board 
Boies, $4.00; Elegant Tin Cases, $£.00. 

THE ABOVE ARTICLES TO BE HAD SEPARATELY. FOR PRICES, SEE CATALOGUE 



FRENCH S DESCRIPTIVE LIST. 



SCENERY. 




With a view to obviate the great difficulty experienced by Amateurf? (particularly in 
country houses) in obtaining Scenery, itc, to fix in a Drawing Room, an4 then only 
by considerable outlay for hire and ^eat damage caused to walls, we have decided to 
keep a series of Scenes, &c., colored on strong paper, which can be joined together 
or pasted on canvas or wood, accordinf? to requirement. Full directions, with dia- 
grams showing exact size of Back Scenes, Borders, and Wings, can be had free oa 
•pplication. The following four scenes consist each of thirty sheets of paper. 



GABDEN. 

The above is an illustration of this seen?. It is kept in two sizes. The size of tho 
back scene of the smaller one is 10 feet long and 63^ feet high, and extends, with tho 
wings and border, to 15 feet long and 8 feet high. The back scene of the large one 
is 13 feet long and 9 feet high, and extends, with tha wings and border, to 20 feet 
long and 11 >^ feet high. It is not necessary to have the scene the height of the room, 
as blue paper to represent sky is usually hung at the top. Small size, with Wings and 
Border complete, $7.5U; large size, do., $10.00. 



"WOOD. 

This is similar in style to the above, only a wood scene is introduced in the centre. 
It is kept in two sizes, as the previous scene, and blue paper can be introduced as be- 
fore indicated. Small size, with Wings and Borders complete, $7.50 ; large size, do., 
$10.00. 

FOLIAGE. — This is a sheet of paper on which foliage is drawn, which can be 
repeated and cut in any shape required. Small size, 30 in. by 20 in., 25 cts. per sheet; 
large size, 40 in. by 30 in., 35 cts. per sheet. 

TREK TRUNK.— This is to be used with the foliage sheets and placed at tho 
bottom of the scene. — Price and size same as foliage. 



DRA-WING- BOOM. 

This scene is only kept in the large size. The back scene is 13 feet long and 9 feet 
high, and extends, with the wings and borders, to 2d feet long and 11>^ feet high. 
In the centre is a French window, leading down to the ground, which could be made 
practicable if required. On the left wing is a fireplace with mirror above, and on the 
right wing is an oil painting. The whole scene is tastefully ornamented and beauti- 
fully colored, forming a most elegant picture. Should a box scene be required 
extra wings can be had, consisting of doors each side, which could be made praeticabl«. 
Price, with Border and one set of Wings, §10.00 ; with Border and two sets of Winga, 
to form box scene, ^12.50. 

COTTAGE INTERIOR 

This is also kept in the large size only. In the centre is a door leading outside. On 
the left centre is a rustic fireplace, and the right centre is a window. On the wings are 
painted shelves, &,c., to complete the scene. A box scene can be marie by purchasing 
extra wings, as before described,, and forming doors on each side. Price, with Border 
and one set of Wings, $10.00 ; with Border and two seta of Wings, to form box scene, 
$12.50. 

The above Scenes, mouHted, can be seen at 28 West 23d St., 
New York. Full directions accompany each Scene. 



/ No. CCCXLI. 

FRENCH'S MINOR DRAMA, 

THE ACTING EDITIOK 



The Alumni Play 



% farce in <©nt %tL 



-BY 



CLARA HARRIET SHERWOOD. 



Cc»»rRiGHx, i891,3Y T. H. -FaaaicK. 

New York ; -^-^ '^ "f^oNBOw : 

T, H. FRENCH^ SAMUEL FRENCH, 

Successor to Samukl French & Sow, 

PUBLISHER, PUBLISHER, 

28 WEST 23d STREET, 8-9, STRAND. 



N...^^ 






THE ALUMNI PLAY. 



DRAMA TIS PERSONM. 

MISS ETHEL ORDWAY. 
MISS BESSIE NOBLE. 
MR. JOHN NOBLE. 
MARY, The Maid. 



MODERN COSTUMES. 



TMP96-006795 



THE ALUMNI PLAY. 



{FARCE— IN ONE ACT.) 



SCENE.— Miss Noble's library. 
[^Mary draws portiere, and Miss Ordway enters, in street costume^ 

Miss Ethel Ordway. Mary, tell Miss Bessie that I have come on 
important business — very important — and I'm in a hurry. Tell her 
it's the Alumni business — you understand ? 

Mary. Yes, Miss. 

Ethel. Alumni business ! ( With a sigh.) She will know what that 
means. ^Exit Mary. 

Ethel. {Wanders about the room. Takes up book from the table. 
Reads title) "The World as Will and Idea." — "Schopenhauer." 
{Makes a wry face.) What delightful reading for a warm day ! From 
Mr. Dudley, of course. Bess will wade dutifully through it. ( Weighs 
the book between her hands.) Fancy ! — Deliver me from a pedantic 
fianc6 ! {Discovers a photograph on the table.) Oh ! what a perfectly 
splendid photograph of Jack ! {Seizes it eagerly.) 

\_Enter Mary.] 

Mary. Miss Bessie will be down in a moment, Miss. 

Ethel. {Starts guiltily, and puts photograph behind her.) O ! — O, 
very well, Mary, I wish she would hurry. {With entire change of ex- 
pression she once mor-e examines photography as Mary makes her exit.) 
It doesn't exactly do him justice. {Sees hat and cane on a chair.) Why, 
there is his hat — and cane ! I wonder if he is at home to-day. {Flies to 
mirror atid adjusts her hat and veil.) I am literally blown to pieces. 
{Pauses, with a sudden thought.) Perhaps it isn't his hat, after all, 
{Examines the hat.) Yes, yes it is, and — what's this? my card in it? 
{Reads.) " Miss Ethel Ordway." {Smiles.) How absurd! yNha.i can 
he have wanted with my card ? Wearing it in his hat, too. {Laughs 
delightedly. She turns the card over, and her expression changes^ 
Oh ! Oh, I see ! Jane Owens' address is on the other side. Wrote it 
myself. Nov/, do you suppose he wanted her address ? {Pauses.) I 
don't beUeve it ! 

\_Enter Miss Noble, in morning gown, carrying a bandbox.'\ 

Miss Bessie Noble. Good-morning, dear. 



4 THE ALUMNI PLAY, 

Ethel. {Putting card in her pocket^ Good-morning, Bess. {Kisses 
her.) What in the world have you in that box ? 

Bessie. Properties. 

Ethel. Your property ? 

Bessie, No, no. Properties for the play. I thought you came on 
Alumni business. 

Ethel. {With a sigh.) O, so I did! You see you were so long 
coming that I forgot what I came for. I — I became so interested in 
your Schopenhauer. 

Bessie. {Latighing.) You featherbrain ! If the world were accord- 
ing to your will and idea, we would be walking about on our heads. 

Ethel. Now, that is unkind of you. On the contrary, I was having 
very delightful ideas indeed, Bess. I will be first bridesmaid. Behold me, 
distractingly beautiful in a white gown ! You are a vision under a tulle 
veil — Can't you hear the wedding march ? {Sings.) turn — turn — ta — 
tee ! {Marches soletunly aci'oss the j'oom, dragging her friend with 
her.) 

Bess. O Ethel ! How ridiculous ! 

Ethel. Ridiculous ? But wait — Afterwards the bridal party partake 
of a delicious repast ; the groom rises to his feet {dramatically') and 
proposes a toast to — ^to — let me see — to the Differentiation of the 
Homogeneous, or something equally comprehensible — to which the 
bride responds with whole pages diligently culled from Herbert Spencer. 
It is a feast of reason and a flow of soul. Now.^ what have you got to 
say against my ideas ? 

Bess. That they are too absurd. 

Ethel. Well, if you prefer to " toddle away with beat of drum and 
rum tum-tum," of course I have no objection. 

Bess. Here, here ! That will do ! To business ! Remember, you 
are on the Executive Committee. 

Ethel. {Faitits into a chair. Then, resignedly^ Too true ! Bess, 
I've heard of people being executed, but somehow the full horror of the 
term never dawned upon me until I was put on this Executive Com- 
mittee I 

Bess. {Smiling^ But, since you are on it, you must do your duty. 
You have been delegated to the Entertainment Committee. 

Ethel, Relegated, you mean. 

Bess, {Laughing?) Don't quibble over a term. You have promised 
to serve on this committee, Ethel Ordway, and you've got to help me. 
Now do be serious, 

Ethel, {Straightening up and assuming a great interest^ Very 
well, I am all attention. You say you have the properties in that box. 
Does it not occur to you, my dear Elizabeth, that you somewhat resem- 
ble the Peterkins ? Getting your properties before we have decided ou 
the play ? 

Bessie. The play is what we must decide upon. 

Ethel, ( Tragically) " The play's the thing ! " 

Bessie, And I'm afraid we shall have to get a play without any male 
characters in it. 

Ethel, Without any men in it ? 

Bessie, I am afraid so. 



THE ALUMNI PLAY. 5 

Ethel. O, but, Bess — think how horrid ! Why can't we ? Dear 
me, it is hard enough to find a short play for amateurs, but a play with 
only women in the caste ! I can't think of anything more stupid. 

Bessie. You see the trouble is, none of the girls are willing to take 
a man's part. 

Ethel. Why not ? 

Bessie. I have used every inducement, but they will not dress the 
part. They all say they can see no harm in it themselves — but — they 
are afraid of criticism. That is the amount of it. 

Ethel. And who would criticise them ? Nobody. Why the audi- 
ence is composed of women — that is, nearly. And the idea ! In these 
days of Jenness Miller and divided skirts ! It is too absurd ! 

Bessie, I think so, too. And besides, they could disguise themselves 
completely with these wigs and beards. ( Opens bandbox?) 

Ethel. {Eagei-ly.) O, do let me see! {They take out beards aitd 
wigs. Ethel /?/A one on Bess.) How would you look? [Bursts out 
laughing.) The bearded lady ! {Assigning the air of a shotimian.) 
Walk in, gentlemen, only i&n cents to see this wonderful curiosity! 
Never will such an opportunity be afforded you. Walk in ! We have 
here 

Bessie. {Interrupting.) A monkey in disguise. A living proof of 
the authenticity of Mr. Darwin's theory {pointing at Ethel. Then, 
exainijting her face i?i the mirror.) But, really, Ethel, I would look 
look a man if it were not for my hair and clothes. 

Ethel. Certainly, you would. And why any girl should object to 
doing it is more than I can understand. 

Bessie. Suppose jj'^?^ do it. 

Ethel. I ! O — I — I — You see Tvi too small. 

Bessie. {Laughing.) You see ? 

Ethel. If I were larger, I'd do it. Why don\ you ? 

Bessie. N'ever ! I couldn't possibly. 

Ethel. Isn't it in keeping with Mr. Dudley's principles of sociology? 
I think you act more in accordance with his vv^ill and ideas than you do 
with what's-his-name-over here ? {looks at book) Schopenhauer. 

Bessie. That has nothing to do with it. I simply could not act like 
a man. I can't act, in the first place. You know I have no histrionic 
talent whatever ; and to act a man's part — it is out of the question. 

Ethel. Well, then, if you can't get any one else — No. Before I 
make any rash promises I will go over to Mrs. Wilcox's for a lot of 
"yellow-back" plays, which we can look over. And if — mark you, if 
any male part suits my peculiar style of — shall I say beauty ? — then I 
promise to take that part. 

Bessie. That will be splendid ! You are a trifle small. But then 
there are plenty of small men. 

Ethel. O, yes ! and they always fall in love with big girls. But, I 
must go after the plays. Dear — dear ! what a lot of trouble we take for 
these " sweet girl graduates." 

Bessie. (3f course, Ethel, we needn't have a play. We can have a 
musicale or a promenade concert, if you say so. 

Ethel. A^ever ! They had a promenade concert the year I grad- 
uated, and excuse me from another. It was ghastly ! We knew so 



THE ALUMNI PLAY. 

few of the Alumni that we sat wliispering in corners, or promenaded in 
droves, feeling very conspicuous in our white gowns, and clinging to 
one another for support. Ugh ! It gives me the shivers to think of it ! 
No, indeed, the poor little dears shall not suffer like that again. Not 
while I am Lord High Executive Committee, and Chancellor of enter- 
tainment. Even if I have to exhibit you as the bearded lady, and my- 
self as — what is that rude thing you called me ? Darwin's missing 
link? 

Bessie. {Laughing) You will not be called upon to betray yourself 
for the " little dears " as you call them. They would rise up and de- 
nounce you in a body, if they could hear you. Do you remember when 
we graduated ? 

Ethel. {Putting her hand to her forehead, and making a great 
effort to ?'emember.) It seems to me I have an indistinct recollection of 
that occasion. Was it fifty or a hundred years ago ? 

Bessie. I wouldn't make myself out quite so antidiluvian if I were 
you. I remember a certain young person who thought herself quite 
advanced in years at that time, and who told me, in confidence, that if 
she were not married within a year after leaving school, she would cer- 
tainly be an old maid. 

Ethel. Well, hasn't my prediction come true ? / have no predi- 
lection for Spencer and — and what-do-you-call him Schopenwjj/^r. My 
remembrance of our graduation is a mixture of white mull, dreary 
essays, a sea of upturned faces and diplomas. The flowers and the 
lunch are more distinct — and the Promenade Concert! {Makes a 
face.) 

Bessie. Stop this ancient history. Run along and get the books. 

Ethel. Very well. {With stagy gesture.) "I go, but I return!" 
{Disappears, and appears again.) O, by the way, Bess, is your — did I 
— O, nothing. 

Bessie. What it it ? 

Ethel. Ah — is that — is that Mr. Dudley's hat ? 

Bessie. No, certainly not. Where did you suppose he was, under 
the table ? 

Ethel. I — I didn't know. Whose is it then ? 

Bessie. Why Jack's, of course. I should think you ought to know 
it. 

Ethel. Has he — has he more than one hat ? 

Bessie. I guess so, why? 

Ethel. I — O, I just thought that if he had only one — 

Bessie. Do you want him to lend you one for the play? 

Ethel. {Brightening.) Yes, yes. 

Bessie. I'll ask him. {Calls.) Jack ! 

Ethel. {With evident relief .) He is at home, then? 

Bessie. {With a significant knoxuing look.) Yes, he has a headache, 
or something. Nothing serious. 

Ethel. You needn't call him. I must go. I'll ask him about — 
about the hat when I corn2 back. \^Exit. 

Bessie. {Picks up wigs and beards, combs and replaces them one by 
one.) Mr. Dudley's hat. {Lattghs softly.) That was it, was it ?j 

Voice from the hall. {Calling.) Bess, I say Bess ! 



THE ALUMNI PLAY. 7 

lAfr. John 'Noble pu^s his head ihroiKjh the portiere.'] 

Bessie. Well? 

Mr. John Noble. Was that Ethel who just went out? 

Bessie. You are as bad as she is, Jack. You know it was. She 
pretended not to recognize your hat. 

Jack. {IVith a drawl.) Indeed? So I judged. 

Bessie. {Scathini^ly.) Listening, o^ convhe. 

Jack. Well, I did happen to hear a few words about a play as I was 
passing through the hall — and, I say, you can't go dressing up in men's 
clothes. 

Bessie. [Crossly.) Who's going to ? 

Jack. Well, somebody is ; and it's not necessary. I have a scheme 
for you. 

Bessie. Ah ! indeed ! 

Jack. Got a riding skirt ? 

Bessie. There's an old one hanging in the closet under the stairs. 
(Jack disapt)cars.) Now, what is he going to do, I wonder. 

Jack. (/;/ the distance.) Did you say under the stairs. It's not 
here. O, yes, it is. I've got it. All right. How does this thing 
work ? 

\_Enter Jack, dressed in a loose silk shirt and blazer {or sac que coat) and 
a riding skirt, which he is trying to fasten at the belt.'\ 

Bessie. {Scornfully.) Is ///rt'/ your scheme? How flat ! 

Jack. Not at all. This would do very nicely. I don't look like a 
woman, just because I have on a riding skirt. 

Bessie And 1 wouldn't look like a man ju-st because I had on a 
coat and vest. 

Jack. I don't see why not — if you have a good make up. Now, 
see ! {Takes up his hat and caiie, and strides across the r&om.) 

Bessie. {Laughing.) O Jack ! You look too idiotic ! 

Jack. I wager Ethel v^on't think so. 

Bessie. {Sarcastically.) Indeed ? Perhaps she is a better judge than 
I. She will be back presently, and you can ask her opinion. 

Jack. {Who has been searching in his hat.) I say ! have you seen a 
card with Miss Owens' — Jane Owens' address on it ? {Looks aro7ind 
the floor.) I had it here in my hat. Did you take it ? 

Bessie. Did I take it ? What would / want with Jane Owens" 
address. You know I don't like her, and neither does Ethel. 

Jack, Doesn't like her? Then what the deuce did she invite her 
here for? 

Bessie. She didn't know her then as she does now. What you men 
found so attractive in that girl is more than I can see. In ihe first 
place, she has no brains 

Jack. {Seating himself on a corner of the table.)- Oh ! Poor thing ! 

Bessie. And how a man of any intelligence whatever could find any- 
thing interesting in her 

Jack. {Tantalizingly.) O, by the way, Dudley was quite the de- 
voted, don t you know. 



8 THE ALUMNI PLAY. 

Bessie. {Hoily.) Yoti needn't talk ! You were around there every 
night. Besides, Mr. Dudley didn't Hke her at all. I am sure of it. 
And anyway, I don't see what you want her address for. You had 
better not ask Ethel for it. She hates her. 

Jack. {Smilingly.) You girls aie so confoundedly jealous. 

Bessie. (Angrily.) And you men are so abo^ninably conceited and 
— and 

Jack. (Complacently?) Go on. 

Bessie. Well, I don't care ! If I did some of the things Jane Owens 
does, you would take my head oft. It is all very well to talk about 
brothers being so particular about their sisters. I, for one, do not be- 
lieve in their solicitude one bit. You know me so well that any piece 
of flirtation or affectation on my part disgusts you, while in Miss Owens 
it is " too attractive for anything." 

Jack. (Applauding) Hear! Hear! Speech by Miss Noble ! (C/ia?tg- 
ing his tone.) You needn't get so excited, Bess; I was only in fun 
about Dudley. 

Bessie. (Furiously?) /don't care whether you were in fun or not. 

Jack. (Ironically?) I know you don't, Bess. Of cotirse you don't 
care, but the fact remains the same. He told me Jane Owens was a 
woman deplorably deficient of intellectuality — and I agree with him. 

Bessie. Did he really say that ? 

Jack. He really did. 

Bessie. (Rising?) Well, when Ethel comes, call me, will you ? 
; Jack. Innnediately. I say, Bess 

'Y^^'S&V£.. (Turning back) Well? 
, Jack. (Significantly?! I see you are reading Schopenhauer. 

Bessie. You horrid boy. (Runs out of the room.) 

Jack. (Calling after her, as he picks up one book after another) 
And Schelling and Fichte, and Hegel, and — and — whew ! Kant 1 

Bessie. (In the distance.) I can't hear you. 

Jack. (After a moment, springs from the table, and strides across the 
room.) I'll take oft' this toggery. (IVorks at the hooks and eyes in 
vain.) No, I'll wait till she comes. (Fames?) Just my luck to lose 
that address. I wish Misss Owens and her ring were in — in — Europe. 
Well, here goes. I suppose I've got to write. (Sits doivn at table.) I 
will get Ethel to give me the address, and she shtxll never suspect that I 
want it. (Takes tp pen, and stabs viciously at the ink.) Ill is must be 
formal — very formal. (Fauses and bites his pen handle) Hum — I am 
not fluent this morning. (Reads aloud) " My dear Miss Owens : 
I hereby retura your ring." (Fauses, Chews pen once more. Stabs at 
the ink) 

l^Enter Miss Ethel Ordway.] 

Ethel. Ah ! How you startled me ! (Drops several of the books she 
carries. Jack springs to assist her) 

Ethel. (Laughing) What — what in the world 

Jack. (Looks mystified for a moment, aud then laughs) O, my 
gown ! I was just illustrating ray idea for yom play to Bess. 

Ethel. (Laughing) What do you mean ? 

Jack, Bess says it is impossible to get any of the girls to appear in 



THE ALUMNI PLAY. 9 

masculine dress, so I suggest this compromise. How do you like it ? 
{Prances before her.) 

Ethel. How awfully funny ! But I see what you mean. The girl 
would simply have to wear a man's coat and waistcoat. 

Jack. Precisely. 

Ethel. {Enthusiastically^ And a wig and beard. What a per- 
fectly splendid idea ! How clever of you to think of it. 

Jack. For instance, you might don my coat. 

Ethel. Do let's see if it would fit. {Throws off hat and wrap. 
Jack pulls off his coat, and she turns while he helps her into it.) How 
did you ever happen to think of it ? 

Jack. Pure inspiration. 

Ethel. There! {Thrusting her handi in her pockets.) Do I look 
very like a man ? 

Jack. H-m, well, I can't conscientiously say that you do just now. 

Ethel. {Pulling the box of wigs from beneath the table.) Of course 
I dont yet — but wait till I have donned my wig and beard. {Jack 
comes to her assistance.) Which do you think is the most becoming, a 
full beard {putting one to her face) or side whiskers ? {Holding them to 
her cheeks.) 

Jack. O, the side whiskers, by all means. And a red wig, or a 
white one ? 

Ethel. {Sentimentally?) "There are wiglets white, there are wig- 
lets red; which shall I choose to wreath my head?" 

Jack. Take a white one, I beg. You are sure to fly into a temper in 
a red one. {Ethel puts on a zohite zvig, much too large, and turns to- 
ward'i him.) 

Jack. Gad ! What a venerable old party you are ! 

Ethel. {In a sepulchral voice.) " You are old, feather William, the 
young man said, and your hair has become very white." 

Jack. {Absejtt-mindedly.) " And yet you persistently stand on your 
head" 

Ethel Slop ! stop right here ! That makes the second aspersion 
cast upon my brains m this house to-day. I call a red wig to my rescue. 
{Puts one on.) Now ! 

Jack. O, horrors ! 

Ethel. {Having put on the side zuhiskers.) Down on your knees 
and sue for pardon ! Down ! Down, I say ! {One side whisker falls off.) 

Jack. {Kneeling, speaks in a titnid voice.) Please, sir, stay the hand 
that smites. And, sir, if I might be allowed to remark it, sir, you — you 
are losing your beard, sir. 

Ethel. {Puts her hand to her face and laughs heartily) O, the 
maiden disarms the ruffian with a smile. {Trying to replace the side- 
whisker.) This will not stay on. 

Jack. Let me {fixes it, taking some time) 

Ethel. There. {Moves away.) 

Jack. Wait, wait ! Now, you've spoiled the whole thing. It would 
have been on then if you hadn't moved. 

Ethel. Well — hurry. 

Jack. {At last, very gently.) There you are. 

Ethel. {A little embarrassed.) Now — now, if Pm to take the part 



10 THE ALUMNI PLAY. 

of a man, you must show me how to walk, a very stylish, manly walk, 
you know. 

Jack. All right. {Puts hat on his head, takes cane^ and zoalks 
across the room.) 

Ethel. Gracious ! Must I walk like that ? 

Jack. Just so. ( Walks back again, Tvhile she switches him closely.) 

Ethel. Must I walk — must I turn my toes in like that ? 

Jack. Certainly you must point one foot in, if you want to be very 
English. 

Ethel. Is that the way /£»« walk ? 

Jack. Something like that, now, let me see }'t)u do it. (Ethel ////^ 
on his hat, takes his cane, and walks in a painstaking, but very faulty 
imitation of his manner. Jack falls into a chair, convulsed with 
latighter.) 

Ethel. {Laughing, too.) What's the matter? Don't I do it right? 

Jack. {Betiveen lattghs.) I — I — O, I should give a fortune to be 
present at the — the play. It will be what is commonly called a — a 
roaring farce ! 

Ethel. That is very unkind of you. With a little practice I am sure 
I could manage it. {She tries it once more, while Jack again indulges 
in silent convulsions.) Well, suppose j'^// try to walk like a woman, 
since you are so critical. There is my hat, and here is my wrap. 

Jack. {Putting them on.) O, that is easily done. {Minces across the 
stage several times.) 

Ethel. {Laughing.) O, you do look too funny ! and you walk ex- 
actly like Jane Owens. It is a capital imitation. 

Jack. {Aside.) Jane Owens ! Now is my chance. {Aloud, very non- 
chalantly.) O, by the way, ah — how is Miss Owens? 

Ethel. {Lndifferently) Very well, I dare say. 

Jack. Heard from her lately ? 

Ethel. {Looks at him sharply. His back is turned as he pulls a 
thread from the riding skirt. Aside.) He did want this address. 
{Producing card.) Well {defiantly) he shan't have it ! {Aloud.) Yes, 
a week or so ago. {Saunters toward table.) When did you have this 
taken? {Picks up photograph.) 

Jack. ( With a frown.) The other day. I — {his face sitddenly 
bj'ightens) I saw Miss Owens picture in Guerin's window — not a bad 
hkeness. Had it taken before she left, I suppose. Is she in Phila- 
delphia, now ? 

Ethel. ( With a significant glance.) I believe so. Mr. Dudley's 
photograph is there, too. What a handsome man he is. {Maliciously.) 

Jack. {Aside.) Confound it! How she does change the subject! 
{Pulls at his moustache.) 

Ethel. {Moving behind desk.) And so clever. {Suddenly her eyes 
fall upon the open letter, which she cannot help readiiig, while an ex- 
pression of horror crosses her face.) 

Jack. He was rather devoted to your — a — friend, was he not ? 

Ethel. {Moving quickly away.) To whom do you refer ? 

Jack. Mr. Dudley. 

Ethel. ( Very coldly.) Devoted to whom ? 

Jack. Why, to Miss — Miss Owens. 



THE ALUMNI PLAY. 11 

Ethel. {Icify.) O, was he ? 

Jack. {Turns toward her as she stands immovable by the table?) 
Gad ! What's the matter ? 

Ethel. Nothing at all, Mr. Noble. You want Miss Owens address. 
Here it is. {Gives him the card.) 

Jack. {Aside.) By jove ! The card from my hat ! {Aloud.) Where 
did you get this ? 

Ethel. I — {hesitates, then defiantly) I found it on the floor, No 
doubt it is yours ; you have evidently lost it. 

Jack. {Aside.) Whew-w ! {Aloud.) 1 — I assure you it is not mine. 
See ! it is one of your own cards. 

Ethel. {Sarcasticnlly.) Indeed? 

Jack. You — you must have dropped it yourself. 

Ethel. {Indignantly.) How cyz;/ you talk so! I'm sure it is nothing 
to me whether you want her address or not. /do not care in the least. 
But why should you take the trouble to conceal the fact that it is yours, 
when you know it was in your ozvn hat ? I detest deceit! 

Jack. I thought you found the card on the floor. 

Ethel. What does it matter where I found it ? The fact remains 
the same that you have deceived me. 

Jack. ( Whistles noiselessly.) 

Ethel. {More calmly.) You know that you are in love with her. 

Jack. Pardon me, I know nothing of the sort. 

Ethel. {Exasperated.) I have a perfect contempt for a man who 
is ashamed of his love. The man who loves me 

Jack. {Turning suddenly.) Is ready to proclaim it to the whole 
world ! I love you, Ethel — I have always loved you, and you know it ! 

Ethel. {Mimicking his manner.) Pardon me, I know nothing of 
the sort. 

Jack. ( With ivipatient shrug.) Then you are very obtuse. Everyone 
else knows it. 

Ethel. {Potiting?) Besides, what do I care for the affection of a 
man who falls in love with every pretty face he sees ? 

Jack. {Tenderly.) I only see otte pretty face, dearest. 

Ethel. {Coldly.) Miss Owens, I suppose. 

Jack. {Striding to her side, tragically.) Ethel, this thing is becoming 
ridiculous ! I cannot bear this Owens creature, and was only civil to 
her because she was your guest. Do you believe me ? I tell you I 
detest htr. {YJTUE.V'i eyes inadvertently fall to the sheet of paper. His 
eyes follo7u the direction of hers. He hesitates and his voice resumes its 
natural tone.) Oh ! I see I 

Ethel. {Tapping her foot .^ impatiently.) Now, what am I to think 
of all your fine phrases ? 

Jack. {Aside.) Jove! I wish I could think of some more. {Pulls 
moustache.) Ethel, circumstances are against me. I will tell the exact 
truth. . 

Ethel. As a last resort. 

Jack. You know the day we all went skating? I — well — that is 
she 

Ethel. You proposed. Go on. 

Jack. Nothing of the sort. She proposed 



V2 THE ALUMNI PLAY. 

Ethel. ( Turning upon him.) Jack, I know there are but few con- 
ventional lines which Jane Owens would not gladly overstep, and I hate 
to doubt your veracity — hit that s/ie proposed to you. No. Human 
credulity has its limits. 

Jack. Proposed that we should skate around the point together. 

Ethel. Oh ! 

Jack. Then she said her ring hurt her, and wanted me to take it. 

Ethel. Ah ! 

Jack. I didn't want to. I tried to get out of it. But she ?nade me. 

Ethel. Poor little fellow ! 

Jack. Well, hang it all ! What could I do ? You had gone off with 
that Boston idiot ! 

Ethel. You will kindly do me the favor to speak more respectfully 
of my friends. At least let me think that there is one among them who 
is not an idiot. 

Jack. {Fiercely^ Then it is as I suspected. You do care for him ? 
{Pause.) I have been a fool ! {Long pause.) Well, I will not re- 
proach you. What good would it do ? It could not make me feel any 
better. I believed once that you were not indifi'erent to me. I was 
even mad enough to hope that some day — well, never mind. People 
never die of broken hearts, they say. He is no doubt a much better 
fellow than I, Ethel, but — but he will never love you as I do. {Her 
back is turned toward hi/n, but he lifts her hand to his lips sorrowfully, 
and moves away.) 

Ethel. ( Who has been undergoing a visible mental struggle, softly^ 
Jack ! {He doesnt hear. She turns.) Jack — Jack ! 

Jack. {Rushes back, and taking her in his arms.) Aly darling ! 
{Pause.) 

Ethel. ( With her face buried on his shoulder?) And you really 
thought I liked hivi ? 

Jack. And you really thought I liked her ? 

Ethel. {Lifting her head fro?n his shoulder.) Promise not to be 
angry if I tell you something ? 

Jack. I szvear it ! 

Ethel. Well, then, no. I didn't think you really cared for Jane 
Owens at all. I — I knew you loved jne all the time. 

Jack. {Kissing her bet^veen words.) You deceitful base creature ! 

Ethel. {After a pause.) And how funny thai yozi should think I 
cared for him. {Jack smiles guiltily.) Jack I {A sudden suspicion 
dawns zipon her.) You really did think so — didn't you ? 

Jack. Promise not to be angry if I tell you something ? 

Ethel. {Doubtfully.) I won't promise. 

Jack. Then I shall never — never tell you. 

Ethel. H'm — a well, I promise. 

Jack. Very well, then. No, I didn't really think so at all. I knew 
you loved me all the time. 

Ethel. {Trying to get a^vay.) You horrid, conceited man ! 

Jack. Now, sweetheart, you promised not to mind. 

Ethel. But such deceit as yoiurs. 

Jack. How about yours ? 

Ethel. Anyway, you can't tell whether I love you itow, or not. 



THE ALUMNI PLAY. 13 

Jack. {Laughing.) Can't I ? Then suppose you tell me. 

Ethel. I do 

Jack. Do what ? Go on. 
Ethel. Do lo — lo — no, I shan't say it. 

Jack. Then I take it for granted. {Draws her closer to him, and 
kisses her again and again.) 

{^Enter Miss Bessie Noble. She sees the fantastic couple, and pauses 
in alariH.'\ 

Bessie. {At last, aside.) For Heaven's sake ! {Draws nearer, and 
finally hursts into peals of laughter. The two fly apart guiltily, while 
Bessie continues to laugh immoderately.) 

Bessie. {Gasps.) What — what — {ends in laughter.) 

Jack. {Seriously unconscious of his ludicr-ous appearance^ That's 
all right, Bess. You think you have a good joke on us, but — but Ethel 
— a — has promised to — a — to — You see we're engaged. 

Bessie. {Shrieking laith laughter.) Oh ! Oh ! O — (Jack and Ethel 
look at one another in amazement.) Your — your — Oh ! can't you see 
how funny you are in — in those clothes. {Laughs again. Jack and 
Ethel look at one another sheepishly for a moment, and then all three 
laugh.) 

Ethel. {At last.) You see we — we dressed up and then — I forgot 
all about it. {Rushes to mirror and exclaims in horror?) O, how 
hideous ! {Snatches off the ivig.) Jack, why didn't you tell me ? 

Jack. I wasn't thinking about your looks. 

Bessie. {Taking her brothers hand.) Well, sister Jack, I congratu- 
late you. {Takes Ethel by the side whisko's and kisses her.) And 
brother Ethel, I salute you as a future member of our noble household. 

Ethel. Let me take off these things. (Jack comes to assist her.) 

Bessie. Now, you can both see how absurd these costumes are. The 
question is, what are we going to do for THE ALUMNI PLAY ? 

(Curtain.) 



rRENCH'S ACTIJ 



LIBRARY OF CONGRESS 



ISTE'W I=> 



April Folly 

At Sixes and Sevens 

Barbara 

Baron's Wager 

Betsy 

Bow Bells 

Breach of Promise 

Breaking the Ice 

Brothers (The) 

Bubbles 

By Special Request 

Case for Eviction 

Chalk and Cheese 

Charity 

Circumstances Alter Cases 

Confederate Spy 

Compromising Case 

Crazed 

Crossed Love 

Danicheffs 

Dimity's Dilemma 

preams 

Duchess of Bayswatcr k Co 

Duty 

Engaged 

Equals 

False Shame 

Fennel 

First Mate 

For the Old Love's Sake 

Garden Party 

Garrick (Muskerry) 

George Geith 

Gentle Gertrude Buil 

Girl Graduate 

Girls (The) 

Glimpse of Paradise 



Gretchen 

Harvest Home 

His Own Guest 

Hook and Eye 

In Honor Bound 

Iron Master (The) 

Lady Fortune 

Linked by Love 

Long Odds 

Love Game 

Lyrical Lover 

Major and Minor 

Man Proposes ( Grundy) 

Marble Axch 

Melting Moments 

Merry Meeting 

Mariner's Return 

Miser 

Month After Date 

My Friend Jarlet 

My Little Girl 

My Lord in Livery 

Nearly Seven 

Nearly Severed 

Nettle 

Not Such a Fool, etc. 

Obliging His Landlady 

Off Duty 

Old Cronies 

On the Brink 

Once Again 

Once a Week 

Open Gate 

Overland Route 

Palmistry 

Petticoat Perfidy 

Pity 




015 910 009 1 



Postscript 

Progress 

Punch 

Ruined by Drink 

Railway Adventure 

Row in the House 

Sample vs. Pattern 

Saved 

Second Thoughts 

Senior Wrangles 

Sins of the Fathers 

Sixpenny Telegram 

Sour Grapes 

Spur of the Moment 

Steeple Jack 

Step Sister 

Sunny Side 

Sunset 

Sunshine 

Taken by Storm 

Tears; Idle Tears 

That Dreadful Doctor 

The Nightingale 

Thorough Base 

Through the Fire 

Tom Pinch 

True Colors 

Two Pros 

Which 

Why Women Weep 

Woman's Wrongs 

Written in Sand 

Yellow Roses 

Yeoman's Service 



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